some Italy anecdotes: the 'we don't always travel well' edition

Our first morning in Rome, Coach had arranged for us to take a train to Pompeii. My dad, the world's biggest history buff, considered it a must-see highlight, so Mini requested we visit the ruins with her. 

It really was remarkable that this city
 was covered in ash and
 lava and discovered
hundreds of years later. Cool to see, but
 I admit that I do not share my dad's
 history obsession. Perhaps
 because practically
 every vacation of my childhood was
 force fed history lessons in
 one shape or another. 

Our hotel was great. So comfortable. My friend, Delilah recommended it. We were pleasantly surprised that Mini had a small half bath in her room. Her bedroom was connected by a short hall to our room and full bath. Breakfast was included, but Coach insisted on allowing enough time for us to get to the train station so that we could grow old and be sufficiently hungry and dream about the missed breakfast. 

* Understand, this was our first morning, so I had no expectations. I pack my GF oatmeal and a bowl deep enough to cook it in a microwave. So not being able to make that was not ideal. But, Coach took the time to organize our trip and I rolled with it. 

We took a cab to the train station, because I was not willing to sacrifice more sleep in order to try to figure out the bus system again. Our hotel was about a 6 minute taxi ride to the station. Coach wasn't sure how challenging it would be to find our train, so we arrived approx. 40 minutes early. Anyone who knows me IRL will understand - early is a departure for me. We were so early our track wasn't yet listed on the schedule board. 

Mini and I poked around the station in search of breakfast, while Coach stared at the overhead schedule awaiting our assigned track. She and Coach could have a pastry, or anything. Me? I found nothing. We surrendered and landed at McDonalds, waiting forever to get the sandwiches (for my gluten eating companions) and plain eggs for me. I was relieved to eat something. 

We took a long train ride before catching a bus to Pompeii. Mini suspected there was another way to get to Pompeii - staying on the train seemed more sensible. Coach had done his research and his nose was out of joint when I asked if it maybe made more sense to go Mini's suggested route. 'I-organized-this-trip' feathers were ruffled, which made for a less than ideal Pompeii experience. Coach's feathers, once ruffled, do not smooth easily.

After the train, we raced to where the bus was supposed to pick us up. I had to pee. Understatement. The bus wasn't there. I deiced to find a bathroom - "Hold the bus for me." Coach was nervous that we'd miss the bus, so he told me to be back in 5 minutes. Need I paint you a picture of me with a full bladder all out running (after I asked a worker where the toilets were) up an escalator, taking the stairs two at a time, then .5 miles down the no-joke, longest corridor?

Who designs a train station with one bathroom all.the.way.at.one.end of a mile long building? I panicked and aborted my mission. I returned to Coach and Mini, where we continued to wait for maybe 15 minutes before I said, That's it. I have got to pee. If this bus is this late, they can wait for me. I'm not giving up this time.

Then I asked the same guy, admitting I'd not been successful the first time. He motioned and told me All the way - you have to go all the way to the end. 

He wasn't kidding. I suspect I crossed the border into Switzerland to find the bathroom. When I returned, the bus had arrived. Coach had bought tickets in advance for this bus, but he couldn't find them on his phone. The bus driver spent several minutes waiting, showing Coach the app, while Coach kept assuring him he bought them, and trying to find where his phone saved them. Finally the driver let us on without checking our tickets. Coach found them later, but we were in our seats and no one cared anymore. 

This is how we travel. It isn't always pretty. And this is days before one of us puked her guts out and shit her pants. 

**********

Are you drawn to historic sights? Does your phone hide downloaded or saved tickets too? If you plan it, does that mean no one better question it? Asking for a friend. Oh, and longest you've had to race to locate a bathroom (In a public place like a train station no less - still boggles the mind). 

why the bloody feet (no gross photos), plus Italy story foreshadowing

the bloody feet:  In case you didn't see my response, Kyria this is for you . . . Kyria said she needed to know why Curly's feet were bloodied during basketball. 

Curly realized Sun.  
that the socks she
 packed were old/thin.
Me:  YOU'RE NOT
WEARING THOSE.
 I lent her a pair of cushie
Bombas, which she wore
  under her thin socks. Her feet
 didn't bleed. (she only
 played 2 games/day.
 - unlike the 4 games
 a day when they
 bled). Still - how timely? She
 was asleep in the car
 without her shoes
 on, and I was driving.
 I wanted to take
 a pic, but safety first.
So this is in the
 kitchen when we
were safely home
 and she ran off to study for
 her AP test tomorrow. 

Well, her feet are messed up due to her stupid love of Irish dancing. She has bunions (I guess? maybe?) or just feet that are misshapen. Like the bones maybe shifted around enough that the fatty parts aren't really all that protective anymore - or the padding is thinned out? I'm talking out of my ass, and no - I didn't consult my PT husband, why do you ask? You think he knows stuff? Probably does. I'm telling you what I think happened from my unofficial, nonmedical viewpoint. When she plays in lots of back to back games, she gets blisters or calluses that are hard as rock and maybe 3 or 4 inches across no matter what socks or shoes or tape, etc. she wears. If she plays in multiple games eventually they bleed. 

When Reg played in the Under Armor circuit for travel ball, he and I drove to Atlanta (July '22?). Remember? A kid a few years older than Reg went to our high school and played for the same AU team as Reg. He lived down the street. Reg and I watched him play in Atlanta. His dad told me that his son had packed old, threadbare socks and was wearing new shoes. His feet were badly blistered. He was a mess. This was the tournie all the college coaches were attending, and his kid (who is now a high level D1 player) could barely walk. 

Me:  Um, I can reach out to Curly and ask her what stuff you should get. She knows blisters from Irish dancing.

7th grade Curly to the rescue. Curly texted me what to do, and I forwarded it to the dad. The dad texted me photos of his son's blisters, which I forwarded to Curly (while trying not to look at them). Curly told him which parts to cut off and which to drain, etc. I was the go between. The dad overnighted stuff from Amazon, etc. The whole thing just slayed me. But when your kid knows feet - you step in. (get it)

*******

I'm drafting this from Appleton, Wisconsin. Travel b-ball. Sunday morning I ran and then ate breakfast alone so that I didn't wake up sleeping beauty. Curly hangs with friends in the hotel till late at night, and then she sleeps in. 

The breakfast wasn't a complimentary buffet - it was in the restaurant, but was included in our program's hotel deal. Curly said she'd skip the hotel breakfast to go out to eat with her team. Huh?

The parents were confused about breakfast being included. (most people stayed at the hotel Fri night - including Curly. I came up later Sat. after the 1st Communion. People were wrongly charged for breakfast Sat morning, but got their money back when I pointed out that it was part of the deal).

Me (to Curly Sun morning):  It IS included and you'll be eating here. 

She joined her friends when they opted to eat out, but she didn't order anything. Travel sports is pricey and the mother who brings her own cooler of food is the mother who saves some money. We're not skipping included food. (plus the food was great - last weekend's hotel food was gross). 

This reminds me of an Italy story . . . I guess the Italy stories will just trickle in as a mixture with current Shenanigan affairs, if that's OK. And if it isn't? Speak to the management. 

stuff this week

Um, I thought last week was busy, but this week? 

At Monday's writing group, someone said they thought my chapter on my prom experience was like something out of a John Hughes' movie. Most of the group agreed. I don't know that there's higher praise. Day year made. 

Tuesday evening I spent a ton of time reading documents/wrote up/took notes on how Curly's basketball team might address the principal and athletic director when they meet today. This is the 2nd meeting. They're trying to get the coach who has no experience replaced. It was a horrendous season. They took 4th in state last year, and then their coach left to coach the boys' team (most of you know why that position was made available). The AD, who has a history of botching things (see the parenthesis above), hired a guy who has never coached varsity. 

On Wednesday afternoon I went back to my GI. My food is going down really slow lately. I squeezed this appointment in a few hours before I picked up Mini at the airport. What a waste of time. The doc, not the airport. A swallow study (like an x-ray) that she and I both agree will show nothing. She offered to maybe increase my Miralax dose to 3x a day. Sweet mother, the babies in my care would not be the only ones in need of a diaper. 

Thursday I have to figure out how to get Kay to and from a neuro psych eval that's 30 minutes away while I'm babysitting. Mini is home, but not sure she'll be awake yet. She definitely won't be awake yet - but will she forgive me for waking her up? Reg planned to drive Kay, but he got a loop and will be making big $$$. 

Thursday evening our social worker, not the girls', needs to come and meet with me. Probably won't take long, but UGH.

Saturday is our godson's First Communion. There's a godparent breakfast Friday (45 minute drive that I'm happy to do both Friday and Saturday, but busy).Maybe now that Mini's home, I can run to the Catholic gift shop that's a stone's throw from my house, but closes at 3:00, so I can buy him a gift.

From his Communion, either myself or Coach will drive to Appleton, Wisconsin for Curly's next tournament (Saturday and Sunday). We'll miss her Sat. morning game - she'll get a ride up there with teammates Friday. I haven't emptied my suitcase from last weekend when I was in Milwaukee with her. 

I have another chapter to complete for my small writing group, due this Friday-ish. When I'll find time to write is anyone's guess.  

Minutes after I walked in from picking up Mini from the airport last night,  we hopped on a call with Curly and a D2 college coach who reached out after watching Curly play in Milwaukee. It's the school Reg's former teammate told him might be looking for wings (Reg's position) last week. Coach asked if she knew about spots on the men's team, and I inserted my mom's dream of having both kids at the same school and how no one works Curly harder or cheers for her louder than her brother, Reg. 

Before the call, I texted in the fam group chat that Curly needed to tell the women's coach:  Reg and I will be interviewing as a team.

Also, in big news, Lad has a big interview early next week. Prayers are welcome. 

I carved out time to write my chapter last night, and as soon as I sat down, Reg popped into the study. Did I know how to cancel Xfinity at his apartment? (rabbit hole) and then - Ed called. He was returning my 'Call Lad and check in with him before his interview please' call. Did I have a book to recommend? - he's leaving for Denmark in a few days for vacation. (I dug up some titles of books and emailed him reviews of them, etc). Then I decided to draft this here post. 

Oh, one last thing. In response to my text to the family about Team Shenanigan taking that college by storm, Ed texted FOR SURE THAT MEN'S SPOT HAS BEEN FILLED. I asked him what it was like to always be a Debbie Downer. He responded:  Put shit in one hand and hope in the other, and let me know which one fills up faster. 

*****

I'd not heard that saying before. Is it new to you? Are you struggling to get things done? I thought May would be insanely busy, and yet . . .

(short post next time:  Why Curly's feet bleed, sans photos)

  

The dessert I made: drum roll & Who can lend me a crystal ball?

I'm sorry I never responded to all the recipe suggestions last week. Much appreciated. If you recall, the end of my week was a whirlwind. 

Book club went well, although most didn't care for the book, Early Morning Riser. The dessert I went with (drum roll . . . ) the chocolate cake and peanut butter frosting cake submitted by Gigi. It received great reviews - especially from my offspring. If there are no slices left when Mini flies home on Wednesday (insert image of me jumping around in joy), I might bake it again to celebrate her return. 

I toyed with the idea of buying a cake from Nothing Bundt Cakes, but I decided I had time to whip something up during naps, if it wasn't too involved. My dessert rotation needed a fresh entry. It didn't take long to bake and I frosted it on Thursday while my little guys ate lunch. A woman just did the ice cream sandwich thing at Feb's meetup, otherwise - I would've been all over that, Suz. 

The women agreed to arrive a bit early, knowing I had a crazy early start time on Friday. They left early and I was in bed by 10:30, determined to get a good night's sleep. My stupid pain in my side (usually managed by meds/rarely happens anymore) woke me up before 5:00 am. Grrr. 

When Curly and I got home Sunday
afternoon, (her team won 3 games,
lost the last one. Would've had to
stay longer if we won. Blessing in
 disguise? We usually
win, but one girl
 was at prom and we
 only have 6 girls
 - we pulled a few up from the U16.
 Also, our shots were off).
Curly laid on the
 deck to catch some
 rays. Her poor bandaged
feet. She bleeds
 thru her socks during
 tournaments all.the.time. 

SMC visit:  All went well. The coach REALLY wants her. I'm keeping my mouth shut, other than discussing pros and cons. Her decision. It's good to have interest, but the level of play is too reminiscent of high school ball for her taste. Even the coach admitted that he think she's a scholarship player (so not D3). Her AU coach reminded her, Playing at a higher level might mean not playing as much - or waiting a year or two to see the court. Things to consider.

We barely made it to Milwaukee in time for her 6:00 pm game. That adventure
deserves its own post. 

The b-ball elephant in the room:   Whether or not Reg's gonna play in college is breaking my heart. He doesn't want to play D3. He's definitely D2 caliber. 

His mindset:  He could've played D3 this year without a program's help, but he paid this program in order to attract higher level schools. Reg told the owner that on
Friday, and I'm proud of him for sharing that. The owner of said program has focused his recruiting efforts on one kid who could play D1 (but the D1 coaches who come to the open gyms leave after 15 min because the kid doesn't play defense). Makes sense from a marketing perspective, "I GOT JOHNNY A DIVISION 1 DEAL." But very few other kids have gotten looks. 

After being shit on by coaches and school personnel, Reg has stayed the course. His dad and I have been urging him to commit to a college without a b-ball deal. "Go to Creighton and be a manager. Enjoy college without the pressure of being on a team." He's supposed to select a school by May 1st.

Epiphany:  I woke up in my Milwaukee hotel room Saturday after sleeping for a ridiculous and glorious 9.5 hours:  NOPE. HE WANTS TO PLAY D2 OR LOWER LEVEL D1 AND HE'S DONE NOTHING BUT FIGHT AND PERSEVERE THROUGH SOME HARD SHIT, AND I'M GONNA SUPPORT THAT GOAL. 

So, that's where we're at. It's stressful. I think he'll put down a deposit at Creighton or wherever while trying to get a spot at a school that needs someone in his position. If something works out, we eat the $400 deposit. 

Crystal ball I can borrow?  If I knew where Curly was gonna end up - well, I'd urge him to go there (not SMC, all girls). Curly's a junior BTW. These two are close and are each other's best cheerleaders. Some school would be so lucky to have the pair of them. 

Reg's 30 for 30 needs an ending. He needs to finish this on his terms. 

REQUEST: favorite dessert recipe, book club is tomorrow night. HELP!

I just commented on Ally's blog about how I wish I'd planned my week better and remembered to ask for dessert ideas here. I'm hosting book club Thursday evening. Then I thought, I can ask on a Wednesday and see if anything pops up as doable before I run to the grocery store. 

• Recipes need not be GF. 
• If you've read the book 'Early Morning Riser', and you seem to remember a food that was eaten or discussed, and you have a tie-in idea, all the better. 

Now I'm getting overly fussy. Don't mind me, but at the last book club the host prepared something with peaches, because the main character grew up on a peach farm. Clever, right? 

That particular host also has the most beautiful home and decorating and furniture, including white upholstered rocking chairs in the living room. They don't look like they're gonna rock, ah - but they do. Any guesses on what white chairs would look like in my house? 

Fingers crossed that no one will be expecting fancy-shmancy furniture here. Last time, I hadn't gotten around to grabbing kitchen chairs to drag into the family room for extra seating, and when I turned around two ladies had seated themselves at the

Exhibit A:  Note the Waterford wine glasses
 on the table, and there's an exersaucer
 at the one woman's elbow. 

wooden table and chairs for tots in my family room, which happens to double as my daycare babies' hangout. The ladies refused to budge, claiming to be perfectly comfortable. They are on the short side, but still - I was like, NO, LET ME GET YOU A REAL CHAIR. 

My house is fairly clean, because I just hosted Easter. But, I'm babysitting Wednesday and Thursday and I have to take my dad to his doc appointment Wednesday late afternoon, and Tuesday afternoon included a phone call with the attorney for over an hour and we only got part of the way through the paperwork. And I have to cut like 500 words from my chapter before Friday when I submit it to my writing group for our Monday meeting. 

I can't find time to edit my chapter, because:  

• book club on Thurs., so please be patient with my potentially slow response to comments and blogs. 
• Then, early Friday morning Curly and I drive to South Bend. She has an official basketball visit at Saint Mary's - my alma mater. So exciting. I don't think she wants to go to school there, but it does check a lot of her boxes (close to home, good academics, small school - but advantages of a big school). It'll be good experience. 
• Then we haul ass to Milwaukee, where she plays this weekend. 

 Anyway, time is not on my side. 

I'll probably prepare my go-to 7 layer taco dip, Irish soda bread (this feels very spring-ish), the caprice skewers someone suggested last time, and the choc chip cookies I baked on Saturday that I've got stored in the freezer. But every host offers a WOW factor dessert. Suggestions? 

Italy: getting there is half the fun, plus hilarity

When Coach and I got to O'Hare, I was wiped. I'd barely slept. When we got to our gate, I ate my GF pizza that I made before we left. Security had flagged my bag. "That's my pizza. I have celiac. Please don't touch my food." I considered this my last meal, like What if I can't find anything to eat, or more immediately - what if the airline forgot to pack the GF meal I'd requested?

Then I moved to a row of seats a few rows over (still at our gate), because people near us were loud and I wanted to snooze. I slept for about 30 minutes, sitting in a chair with my feet on my wheelie bag and scooched down enough that my head could rest on the back of the chair. I WOKE UP AND FELT AMAZING . . . until I saw Coach - sitting by our original spot, waving at me. 

The airline people had walked around and identified bags that they thought looked heavy. What? I'd bought carry-on wheelie bags. Operative words:  carry-on. She weighed our bags, and made us check them. I was slightly panicked/still groggy. Where were my meds? Did I need anything out of this bag that I assumed they were gonna drop in the ocean? 

Despite feeling a little unsettled, I slept SO MUCH on our flight. Coach was jealous. Maybe having crappy sleep is me cracking the code on how to beat jet lag. When we flew to Budapest to see Ed, the shooting pain down my leg was insane. I had none of that. Praise the Lord. 

Coach hunting for the right bus:  take 1.

We changed planes in Zurich. Guess who slept on that entire short flight? Yep - me! I felt almost refreshed when we got to Rome.

We struggled to find the bus that would drop us near our hotel. Once we figured that out, we lugged all of our stuff (our bags made it- Phew) to the bus and I asked if we could pay for tickets on the bus. The driver didn't even look up, but pointed. What exactly was he pointing at? I may never know. We trudged back to the train station and eventually found a newsstand that sold the tickets.

Regrets:  I have them. This process took forever and looking back, I wish we'd just waited at the train station for Mini. I was thinking she was arriving by train hours after us, and she WAS -but since we'd waited for our bags and lapped the train station multiple times, and practically had to hand over a kidney to get a bus ticket (that no one ever looked at), we'd killed a lot of time. 

Mini arrived at the train station, a mere 10 minutes from our hotel, shortly after we were checked into our room. I felt so dumb. She couldn't figure out the bus ticket buying thing either and my directions weren't helping. She was grumpy. 

No, I haven't watched
My Octopus
 Teacher, why do you ask?

But then she arrived and SHE WAS WITH US . . . and all felt right in the world. Oh my gosh. It was so great to hug her (she's not a big hugger, have we talked about the fact that she's so ticklish, I think it's almost a disability?). We went to dinner in a restaurant built in a cave, and she told a story that had us dying laughing. Plus, I ate octopus. 

While cutting into
her dinner, Mini's
 food spit at her and
she hadn't packed
 much for our
 Rome visit. Ugh.
 Guess who had
 baby wipes
 back in the room? 

*I vowed to not make a fuss if a place couldn't feed me, just eat what I thought might work, or decide to eat a bag of safe snacks back at the room. Octopus (I don't generally like seafood) was tasty. Despite my coma-like flight demeanor, I was tired and hungry and I think I would've eaten my own foot if necessary. 

Mini's story:  Not sure you'll get the gist without her facial expressions and antics. Use your imagination. Mini and a few friends did a wine tasting thing. The waitress gave them instructions that the girls found confusing. Her bestie from home, who was visiting, deferred to Mini to start. The waitress poured water in Mini's glass. She indicated a bowl (?) in the middle of the table and said Spit. (or something close/sounded like spit)

Mini shrugged, swished the water in her mouth, and then spit it into the bowl. The waitress grimaced, waved her hand, moved the bowl away from Mini's face, and said, "No, no!" 

I think she was supposed to swish the water in her glass and then pour the water in the bowl. I can't remember. I was cry laughing. 

*****

Know anyone who is ridiculously ticklish? Have you eaten octopus? Have you messed up at a wine tasting? Clearly you can dress us Shenanigans up, but you can't take us out (hello, sauce splatter, wine spitting). 

Italy: What I missed/What I noticed, & Mini's final art project

I'm pausing the daycare update to return to the Italy recap. I gather that you're all more interested in the Italy stories, plus the next daycare update is:  They love me, they really love me. It's sweet, but not pressing. 

Am I giving you whiplash with all of these topic changes? 

Italy:  

I missed:  

• Still water - Hold the bubbles, damn it. I don't like fizz in my water. To get still water at restaurants, we had to buy it. 
• free water - Slightly different than above. This is about a lack of water filling stations. I love a place to fill my water bottle. So many places in the States offer that (* you know who doesn't offer that? The Pacers athletic center where Curly played over the weekend outside of Indianapolis did NOT have water. They sold water bottles. How convenient.)
• free toilets - I think we, and by 'we' I mean me - the person who takes Miralax twice a day, only had to pay to use a bathroom a few times. So many places we went just didn't have public restrooms. Or if they did, beyond gross. 
• toilet seats - many restaurants/train stations offered a toilet bowl but no seat. Coach, alarmed, asked me at a restaurant after exiting the bathroom shared by both genders, Wait - what did you do there? Did you have to sit on that? (cringe face)
• running shoes - I sort of missed my running shoes, but I rotated between three pairs of shoes. My feet did fine. 

I noticed:  

• Just right - the restaurants serve appropriate portion sizes. It didn't seem like Italians struggle with weight issues, but I don't have any data to back this up. How do Italians maintain their girlish figures when there is gelato every three steps? -  ah - But, the gelato servings are itty bitty. We took the kids to Dairy Queen Sunday night, and I couldn't wrap my brain around their version of  SMALL. I digress . . . We never had a take home container. That being said, Coach sometimes got hungry AFTER we'd eaten. I was like:  You should've eaten more bread (she says with a hint of jealousy, since very few places offered GF bread). 

  

  This is the terminal when we were about
   to fly home. There are two TWO! smoking
   'cabins' - one on each end of this photo. 

• eating late - many of the restaurants don't even open until 6:30 or 7, or later. * I have a story about waiting in line to get a seat at a popular place, remind me. 
• business hours - see above:  so many places close up shop late afternoon until the evening. To nap, or relax? My kind of lifestyle. 
• so many smokers - Have they not heard of the health concerns? Do we need to have a public service announcement drafted in Italian? 
  

• 

  This is one of the smoking cabins.

  lunchmeat at breakfast - The hotels offered lunchmeat and cheese at breakfast, similar to a lunch spread. I packed sandwich baggies, as one does I do. Saving food from buffets helps the bottom line. I don't think we ever bought lunch. At noon, we'd sit on a park bench, and feast on lunchmeat and cheese, and protein bars from home. The meat stayed cool in my purse next to my cold water bottle. Granted it wasn't 80 degrees out. 
• tourist shops - inventory limited to sweatshirts. This is a very specific ME problem, but it's funny . . . 

Sweatpants search:  Mini texted Coach and I when we went to get something to eat while she was puking her guts out. Believe you me, I really didn't want to eat. Mini had held my phone to look at directions. We'd been together THE.WHOLE.TIME. I was convinced I'd be the next puker. Her text was a request for new sweatpants. Use your imagination. We stopped at all the tourist booths along the street on our way back to the hotel. Only sweatshirts and t-shirts. I gave her my pj bottoms, and I went without for the rest of the trip. 

How cool is this?

Coach and Lad decades
ago. I love this photo.

Final project:  While we were there, Mini needed to choose something to sketch and something to paint for her final project. She asked me for zoomed in photos, not a big group. We sat at a cafe and I sifted through my google photos. She chose a photo of Lad sitting on Coach's shoulders at Milwaukee Irish Fest, circa 2002-ish.